


Face of a Nightmare

by longlivekingbean



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-01-23 23:20:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12518900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longlivekingbean/pseuds/longlivekingbean
Summary: Hawke finds himself mysteriously back in Kirkwall after years of being away. With fuzzy memories and a feeling of wrongness he finds himself alone and unrecognized.





	1. Chapter 1

Hawke couldn't remember the last time he had felt so dreadful. Conciousness had been creeping up on him, tugging at his memories and his clothes. His hand shot out and was met with a surprised yelp as it tightened around the wrist of the scavenger. Gradually he opened his eyes, half expecting the sky to be lit green. 

It was a resound blue and the urchin in his grip was certainly a human boy. Ragged and starving perhaps, but still human. What had he been expecting? His memory was muddled. "It's not a nice thing to go through a man's pockets." Hawke said absently.

He was nestled in a corner of a narrow dusty alleyway with only garbage and the boy. He released the startled boy's wrist and checked his pockets carefully. He still had his coin purse safely stored in his pack. "Sorry, I thought ya was dead." The boy said sheepishly.

"You and me both." 

He staggered to his feet, using his staff for support as a wave of dizziness rushed through him. The air smelled familiar. A waft of ocean air mixed with the rotten stench of garbage and city living. "Kirkwall." He muttered in astonishment. 

He was home. 

Absently he reached into his bag and tossed the boy a few silvers. "Be careful with that." Hawke cautioned. "And stop trying to loot possible corpses. Not all will be as friendly as I am." 

The boy nodded with his mouth agape, eyes following as Hawke made his way out of the alley with an awkward shuffle. He used his staff as support as he made his way out of Lowtown. It was as he remembered. Smells both pleasant and putrid wafted in the air and people scuttled quickly about their business while other "business" men and women skulked about looking for an easy target. Some eyed Hawke with a careful eye but thought better of it when he stared back. 

Disoriented as he was Hawke would still be a formidable opponent, garbed in his Champions armor and a wicked pair of daggers stuck in his belt. A mage should never be so short sighted as thinking they wouldn't need blades, especially in a world where being a mage was enough to get you killed on its own. 

Kirkwall was more whole than he remembered. When he had left there was significantly more debris and ruined buildings. Why this was he couldn't completely place a finger on but he knew it was wrong. The steps to Hightown felt higher than usual. He struggled to organize his thoughts as he wandered through the city absently. He let his feet lead him, too caught up in his thoughts to take notice. 

He remembered fighting at Adamant in Orlais with the Inquistior and falling into the fade. 'Who were we fighting?' He wondered. 'Why at Adamant?'

So many questions swirled unanswered in his mind. He glanced towards the sky. It was an undisturbed blue with not a cloud in sight and nothing peculiar about it. Each new thought was sluggish as it crept across his mind, uncertain if they wanted to come at all. It was as if his memories were a scattered memoir and someone had torn out key pages that left it as a nonsensical jumble. He could remember going to Skyhold and travelling with the Inquisitor for an important purpose that simply escaped his grasp.

He paused as he found himself face to face with a large familiar door. Unconsciously his feet had led him to the door of the Chantry. Cautiously he reached out a hand and pushed open the door. It was solid under his hand and heavy as he pushed it open. Inside it was the same as ever, filled with the rich scent of incense and the solemn sounds of prayer. Andraste’s braziers left it always with a feeling of warmth that often caused Hawke to sweat under all his armor. It was wrong.

All of this was wrong. 

Hawke tread carefully across the red carpet towards the great statue of Andraste at the end of the hall on its raised dais. With each step further inside he felt sick. He laughed humourlessly under his breath, wondering if this is how the magisters had felt when they entered the Golden City and corrupted it. His stomach coiled into a tight knot and he gripped his staff with a painful firmness to keep himself steady.

It was too much to risk to walk up the steps closer to the statue. If he made the attempt he was certain his legs would collapse beneath him, as they were treacherously close to doing so now. Frantic fragments of thoughts raced through his mind as Hawke tried to steady himself. The Chantry is gone. Then why am I in the Chantry? I was in Orlais, how did I get to Kirkwall? Questions upon questions clouded his mind. He was certain he was going to be sick all over the Chantry floor. 

"Are you alright, young man?" A gentle hand fell on his shoulder, steadying him. 

Hawke focused on the voice, staring into the familiar face of the Grand Cleric Elthina. Close behind her was Sebastian Vael in his brilliant white armor, but recognition did not dawn on his face as he surveyed Hawke. He had a distinct alertness that Hawke had come to recognize after years of adventuring together; a wrong move away from an arrow to the chest. Even Elthina looked upon him with the polite caution of a stranger. Hawke knew he must look like a ragged drunk at best but to be completely unrecognized and viewed with such suspicion was unfathomable "No..." Hawke croaked. "No I don't think I am. I think... I'm going to be sick."

"Perhaps some fresh air? Sebastian," Elthina motioned to him and without hesitation he moved to help Hawke. "Help him outside and make sure he's alright, won't you?"

It was a struggle to get Hawke's limbs to cooperate but with the support of his staff and Sebastian helping to guide him they made it back outside the Chantry. With great care he was lowered to sit on the steps, which he was grateful for. Had Sebastian not been there he'd have fallen face first down the many stone steps for certain. 

The stone was warm beneath him and the cool ocean breeze did very little to settle his nausea. He sunk deep into thought. He had to be in the Fade, there wasn't any other reasonable explanation that could explain it. But if he was in the Fade then why didn't anyone recognize him? Spirits were meant to mimic the memories of the living and often set to entrap the dreamer from wanting to leave and this was hardly an inviting dream. These thoughts made the knot in his stomach tighten and his head ache. "Can I get you a healer?" Sebastian's familiar Starkhaven accent broke through his cluster of thoughts. 

Hawke had nearly forgotten he was there. He studied his friend carefully, looking for some sign that perhaps this was all an elaborate joke. The only thing he found was unfamiliarity. "I'll be fine," he waved a hand dismissively and made a failed attempt to rise. "Though I do have an odd question, is any of this real?"

The young prince gave him a puzzled look. "What else would it be? Are you sure you're alright?" 

"A dream maybe." Hawke nodded solemnly, staring past the Chantry courtyard and across the rich Hightown mansions. 

Again he rose though successfully this time and gave Sebastian an uneasy smile which was all he could muster in the circumstance. "Thank you, I appreciate the help." 

He knew he was unconvinced but Sebastian took his leave without another word though he cast back glances checking to see if maybe Hawke had fallen down the stairs. He drew a deep breath as he tried to regain some semblance of normalcy. Just a normal human being, with no apparent friends and no sense in the world and a sinking feeling that determinedly burrowed past rock bottom. 

With renewed purpose and great care Hawke made his way down the Chantry steps. As he made his way back through Hightown he peered at buildings with heightened focus. 'Part of that house certainly caved in.' He told himself resounding as he strode past a perfectly intact building. 

Occasionally as he passed he would run his fingers across the stone testing the realness of its surface. Too many questions swirled around in the misty pool of his mind. Once again he let his feet lead him as his mind shifted through the debris of his memories. His gaze lingered as he passed his home, the outside looking derelict and uninviting. "Bodahn must've gone when I left Kirkwall." He muttered. "It wouldn't be like him to leave it this way if he was here." 

He moved on, his legs making the decision that an empty home wasn't where he was meant to be. Sense was what he needed, and the only place he knew where sense was was back in Lowtown. Perhaps he would see a sorely missed friendly face, one that could never forget him. The thought brightened his countenance and brought a quick step to his pace. 

He tried to push the flurry of questions from his mind as he strode with determination into Lowtown. He no longer needed the assistance of his staff to steady himself and moved with haste to his destination. The looming sign of a man dangling by his feet was a sight for sore eyes, always a bit ominous and yet somehow brought a welcome feeling when he saw it. The tavern always helped him feel grounded.

Hawke's mouth thirsted for a stiff drink and his stomach had a verging suicidal need for a hot bowl of their famous mystery stew. Eagerly he pushed the door open and basked in the musk of ale, blood, sweat, cooking meat and vomit. No place could quite match the exquisite stench. 

The relief was short lived. 

A familiar golden haired dwarf sat with his back to the door. He had shed his heavy leather jacket and was drinking merrily as the table discussed. He could recognize Varric across a battlefield. He briefly noted Merill caught up in a conversation with Isabela surely in regards to the tankard in the Elven mage's dainty hands. All of those things seemed so normal it was almost surreal. 

Hawke's blood chilled as he beheld the sight of his sister talking amiably to a stranger. There she was just as he remembered, rosy cheeked, a smile always hinting at the corners of her mouth, scarf wrapped around her neck as red as blood and so very very alive. He could see the ogre hoisting her in its giant ugly fists and crushing the life from her, tossing her aside like a broken doll drenched in her own blood. 

The sharpness of the memory struck him like a blow to the gut sucking the air from his lungs. He staggered back knocking over a patron who swore profusely at him. Heads were turning at the disturbance, Bethany's gentle brown eyes identical to his own locked with his. He couldn't breathe as the air around him suddenly seemed to come short from his lungs. 

Hawke stumbled backwards out the door scrambling to get away from those eyes and the crystal clear memories they sparked. Pain sparked through his chest, the kind only a broken heart could cause that felt like dying with every beat. Blindly he ran through Lowtown eyes looking without seeing as he fled from the tavern and from her. 

Suddenly his back hit the ground as his legs flew out from under him. A heavy form had collided with his chest and assaulted his face with drooling kisses. Far more times that day than he cared for he had had the wind knocked out of him. In his haste he had failed to see the creature bounding towards him and now it loomed over him eagerly lapping at his face. "Warden!" A woman shouted in alarm. "Stop that this instant!"

"Warden?" Hawke muttered, answered by an eager bark of acknowledgement. "Should have guessed from the bad breath."

The mabari gave a hurt whine as he allowed Hawke to rise to a sitting position. "Glad to see someone has recognized me." Hawke teased half heartedly as he stroked the war dog's ear.

It had been some time since he had seen his dog. Warden would have gladly followed him across Thedas had he allowed it, instead he had left his loyal beast in Aveline's capable hands where he would be safer. Warden was satisfied licking the fingers on Hawke's free hand as the other continued to stroke at the large hound's ear. Hawke's breath came easier now though the force of the dogs tremendous body certainly bruised his ribs. 

"I am so sorry, serah," Another familiar voice that made Hawke's heart clench. "Warden, get off boy. He really only listens to my daughter..."

Her bag fell from her hands as she caught view of him past Warden. Apples rolled across the ground as other fruits and groceries spilled from the shopping bag. "Malcolm?" She whispered incredulously. 

His mother looked down at him just as he had remembered her. She had that worn look that he knew well from that first hard year in Kirkwall. But she was so alive, just as Bethany had been in the Hanged Man. Alive and seeing him only as a stranger. A stranger who resembled his father so much in adulthood. "I'm sorry," Leandra flushed bending to retrieve her scattered groceries. "You remind me of my late husband."

"A handsome man I'm sure." Hawke managed to crack a joke despite the heavy lead in his heart. 

He waved Warden off of him and moved quick to help her retrieve his things casting furtive glances at her face trying to convince himself that it couldn't truly be her. Each sight of those he couldn't save hurt him more than the last. His chest felt close to bursting from all that he had seen that day, all the faces of his family that was gone and the overwhelming and inexplicable knowledge that this world was so very wrong. 

Hawke couldn't bring himself to leave just yet though the pounding of his heart made him desperately want to. Leandra smiled at him. "Thank you," She said as the last of her spilled goods was replaced. "Not many in Lowtown would be so kind."

“My pleasure." Hawke attempted a smile but it came short. 

The leaden feeling was spreading to the rest of his body. He had to leave her sight now or he knew his body would fail him completely. "Are you alright?" Leandra placed a steadying hand on his shoulder as they both rose to their feet. "I hope Warden didn't hurt you terribly, ser. He'll have to be better disciplined."

Warden whimpered licking Hawke's hand again in an apologetic gesture. "No it's fine," he croaked backing away. "I just... have to go." 

Hawke staggered away as quickly as he dared fumbling in his pockets until he found the solid iron key that led to the one place that might still offer sanctuary from this growing world of insanity. His pace quickened as dread of who or what could be lying in wait around the next corner for him. His hands shook as he slid the key into it's hole, desperately trying to keep steady as he attempted to unlock it. 

It took what seemed an eternity to finally get the door open. Hawke let out a sigh of relief as he locked the door behind him, resting his forehead on the familiar wood. His racing heart began to calm and a wave of fatigue rushed over him. With a staggering step he moved blindly in the darkened interior relying on his fogged memory to guide him. 

With only a small incident of tripping over a misplaced crate that ended in a barrage of curses did Hawke make it to the fireplace in the main hall. Magic sparked from his fingers and ignited the small pile of discarded wood that had been left in the hearth. It crackled to life emitting a soft glow that cast away the gloom that had settled inside. Hawke leaned his back against a nearby pile of crates as he stared into the flames. His thoughts melted away as he watched them dance and his eyes felt heavy. Hawke shut his eyes and slipped eagerly into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a whirlwind day of emotions, Hawke finds himself in the company of someone he did not expect.

Marian Hawke strode the streets of Kirkwall with a lazy gait. There was no hurry to be anywhere that day and she decided to take pleasure in a relaxing stroll through the city with her younger sister and faithful hound at her side. They were so close to having the fifty sovereigns to meet with Bartrand to partner in his expedition she was certain taking a day off wouldn't hurt the score. 

"What do you think it will be like?" Bethany asked as she studied the tall buildings of the Hightown mansions.

"Well that certainly depends on what you're talking about." Marian chuckled. "I think about what a lot of things might be like."

"Living in mother's old home," Bethany sighed. "Do you think it'll be how she remembers it?"

"It'll be quieter without uncle Gamlen that's for certain." Marian sniggered. "Sure, aside from the odd splash of slaver's blood it'll be mostly the same! So long as we don't meet our tragic ends in the deep roads that is."

Bethany shook her head but a smile crept on her face. "What a bright outlook you have sister." 

“You know me, ever the optimist.” Marian laughed. 

The thought of getting out of the cramped, ramshackle house of their uncle put a bounce in Marian's step as they traipsed along the bustling streets. She had worked hard over the past year alongside her sister to build a name for herself and she wouldn’t rest until she could provide comfort and security for her family. The Amell estate. The Hawke estate, she grinned. She liked the sound of that. “I know it’s not technically ours yet,” Marian said pulling out her key and twirling it in her fingers. “But why don't we get a bit of a head start clearing the place out a bit?”

Bethany looked thoughtful as she considered the idea as they made their way into Hightown. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt, after we cleared out those slavers we hardly had time to clean up after them. By the time we get back from the Deep Roads the stink might be enough to drive anyone out of living in it at all.” 

“With Warden and Gamlen in close quarters the smell can’t be worse than that!” Marian laughed and gave her mabari a vigorous pat when he whined in offense.  
The trio quickened their pace towards the old Amell estate. Marian hesitated as she slid her key in the lock. Bethany gazed at her sister curiously but Marian held up a finger to hush her and listened carefully. From within came the distinct sound of combat. She withdrew a blade and deftly opened the door and sprung into the room ready for action.

*******************

Hawke awoke with a pained groan as he sat up from his uncomfortable nest of crates and debris. His head refused to turn to the left without a sharp pain shooting through it. He groaned as he struggled to his feet sending a surge of magic through his hands as he massaged his sore limbs. He had choosen his spot to sleep poorly and he was certainly feeling it now. Hawke was hardly a young man any more and the creaks and groans of his body reminded him brutally as he got to his feet. 

He squinted in the gloom trying to gauge a sense of time. Carefully he made his way to the nearest window and swiped a hand across the thick layer of grime and cobwebs. Through the filthy glass he could faintly make out the light of mid morning. “I've been out that long?” he cursed himself. 

He turned from the window and made short work of building another fire to better illuminate the catastrophe of his home. An overturned table was at the far end, plates and formerly filled goblets had been thrown from it and left to rot on the floor. When the fire roared to life it caused a family of mice to skitter away from their feast back to their holes. Where he had made his own nest was piles of straw and crates, many had been rifled through already stripped of all their contents but the packing within. 

As he wandered around the room he noticed the splashes of blood that mingled with the wine stains though the bodies had since been cleared away much to his relief. The last thing he needed was a house full of corpses. As he shuffled about with a broom in hand a strange sense of familiarity crept up. His thoughts weren't nearly as cloudy as they had been the day before yet still he couldn’t place the sensation. He paused in his work and cast a long glance over the mess once again trying to place the feeling.

A crash echoing from the vault broke him from his thoughts with a start. Another smash followed accompanied with a whirlwind of curses. “I want names! I want to know who the fuck tore through my men and I want their fuckin’ head on a platter!”

Hawke darted quickly out of sight as several forms made their way up into the room. The man in the lead was a hulk of a man, towering easily over the rest of them with a furious scowl on his face. A trio of nervous looking men followed after him fumbling to give a satisfactory answer to quell their leaders rage. “Whoever it was got into the safe,” one piqued up. “I'll bet that weasel who sold us the place had a hand in it.”

“Yeah!” his cohort nodded enthusiastically. “Wots-his-name, Gamdlen or Gaemfin or something. I hear he’s in Lowtown these days.”

Hawke tightened his grip on the broom. The mess, these men, realization was starting to dawn on him. It had been so long he had nearly forgotten. The estate had looked much like the mess before him after they had cleared it of the slavers using it as a base. He had vaguely remembered years ago being jumped by some slavers seeking retribution, but certainly not the man before him now. Their leader turned to them with a burning fury. “Then why are you still standing here?” he snarled. 

Shit, Hawke cursed under his breath. Without thinking he leapt from his hiding place and launched the broom like a spear towards the slaver closest to his vantage point, jabbing him square in the eye with it. He withdrew his staff with a flourish as the man dropped to his knees yowling in pain. “Sorry boys,” Hawke flashed a cocky grin. “Though he is a slimy little weasel I'm afraid Gamlen is still my uncle.”

The flunkies were startled but their leader leapt into action quickly with a ferocious roar, unholstering a wicked looking war hammer from his back and bringing it crashing it down at him. Hawke narrowly managed to dodge out of the way as it shattered the floor boards. Hawke took a steadying gulp as he unleashed a bolt of magic. Should’ve aimed the broom at the big guy, he thought in hindsight.

More slavers were filing into the room now until there was a good half dozen of them along with their leader who was already preparing another attack. Thinking quickly Hawke threw up a wall of frost, trapping those who were still closest to the door way on the other side. 

Before he could move again Hawke was thrown back into the crates with tremendous force many breaking under the weight of him. “I really didn’t think this through.” He groaned.  
A howl thundered through the room as a massive shape launched into the slavers closest to him, followed by another form who with a flurry of daggers slicing into the slavers about to descend upon him with vicious proficiency. Another figure let lose a fireball that sent the slaver’s leader flying back in a flurry of smoke. His timely savior grasped his hand and hoisted him from the wreckage, a serious expression on her face. “Seems like you could use a hand.”

“Two, if you’ve got them.” He grinned.

The ice wall burst and the rest of the slavers charged now at the pair of them weapons ready. The woman at his side moved swiftly with a pair of daggers in her hands deftly managing to get around the soldiers as they attempted to overtake them and sinking her blades into the weak spots in their armor. Along side her a familiar mabari lunged at another forcing him to the ground as it sunk its fangs into flesh. From the shadows of the doorway his new ally had entered from Hawke saw another flash of magic light up the room as a blast of lighting stunned the man closest to him. He swung his staff around and drove the blade at its base into the stunned man’s chest. 

It was easier to focus now that he was no longer in this fight alone. Quickly they dispatched the lackeys until only their fearsome leader stood before them. He swung his war hammer again in a powerful stroke, crushing his own man’s skull as he aimed for Hawke’s bladed companion. 

She was thrown hard against the adjacent wall with a painful grunt dropping her daggers to the ground. “Sister!” the familiar voice of Bethany sent a chill up Hawke’s spine as he saw her emerge from the darkness to the woman’s side. 

The man lunged again with surprising speed aiming this time for Bethany as she rushed to heal the fallen woman. Not again, Hawke thought in horror. An unbridled fury surged from him, his staff shot out a white hot flame that engulfed the slaver completely. He roared in agony as the flames consumed him dropping the heavy war hammer to the ground as he flailed in the magical fire trying desperately to put himself out. He clawed at his flesh and clothes before falling to the ground, little more than a charred husk.

Hawke breathed heavily as the flames died taking in the sickening smell of burnt flesh and leather. Beyond he caught sight of Bethany, without a scratch and helping the other woman back to her feet with a worried expression knit tightly on her brow. She kept her staff tightly in hand as her companion scooped up her blades. “Quite the finale,” she said in an attempted light hearted tone. “Too bad you didn’t start off with that I bet the rest would have gone running, Ser..?”

“Hawke."

“Have we met?” she raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Or perhaps Varric’s tales have reached more people than I realized.”

“What?” Hawke frowned as he sheathed his staff, a gesture he noted seemed to put Bethany at ease though she still kept her own steadfast at her side. 

“I’m Hawke? Marian Hawke.” She strode over to him and offered him a hand. “I have a friend who likes to tell fanciful stories but nevermind that.”

He took her hand and before he could stop himself, “Garrett Hawke.”

It felt strange using his full name. He was so used to simply going by Hawke, yet, this woman before him was also Hawke, and Bethany had clearly called out ‘sister’ to her. His day of sanity was already unravelling at a breathtaking speed. He took a good look at the woman before him. She was strong and quick that was for certain, and there was a familiarity in her face that reminded him very much of his siblings. Her piercing blue eyes were very much like his brother’s and his mother’s it was uncanny. “Don’t suppose we’re related by any chance?” Marian grinned, trying to diffuse the awkward silence that had befallen them. 

Bethany had stepped closer now sidestepping over the still smoldering corpse and peering at him closely. Recognition dawned on her face. “I remember you!” she said brightly. 

Relief flooded Hawke for a moment but quickly faded. “You came into the Hanged Man yesterday, though you looked like you had seen a ghost before rushing out.” She nudged Marian adding in a whisper. “Mother hand mentioned him too, he does look remarkably like him doesn’t he?”

Hawke sat down heavily on one of the last few intact crates as Warden came up to him cheerfully wagging his entire back half. Marian looked about ready to warn him away, but Hawke gave the hound a good scratch who gratefully accepted it. “You really saved my hide didn’t you?” he grinned at the hound pulling out a piece of jerky from his bag and tossing it for him.

As they were discussing quietly and watching in astonishment as Warden gleefully accepted the treat Hawke formulated a story in his head. Sticking as close to the truth as possible would be the easiest thing for him there, but he’d had to be careful not to let anything slip until he could reasonably figure out what in the Maker’s name had happened to him. He finally looked back to them as he collected his thoughts. “It could be possible we’re related. I can’t say I’ve met many other Hawke’s outside of my mother and siblings.”

“Let’s deal with that jar of worms after we deal with these bodies.” Marian said jovially. “I suppose we’ll be doing more cleaning than we thought today…”


End file.
